Cotton
by lonerism
Summary: Caroline doesn't really like Damon's shirts, so she does something about it. (Completely AU, Established Daroline)


**It's such a random idea, I know. And it probably sounds so _stupid_. But I just _had_ to write this down. It's been a while since I last write-truly _write_ something. I just hope it's not so bad *buries face in hands***

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from The Vampire Diaries. No copyright infringement intended.**

* * *

_Cotton_

* * *

Caroline loves Damon.

Stefan would definitely agree with that—what with the kisses and lingering looks and basically, _constant_ PDAs whenever those two are around. And plus, it takes a lot to put up with someone like _Damon Salvatore_. Anyone who can stand to deal with him on a daily basis must really, really care about him.

Caroline loves Damon, that one is pretty much obvious. She loves his raven hair and dazzling blue eyes and his _mushroom ravioli_ and even his big ego—she loves _everything_ about him. Caroline loves Damon, and she can't help but feel like she loves him even more now, bending down as he's cleaning the rug after he had spilled some bourbon on it _("I got it imported straight from Persia!"_ he had said, _"It costs more than four of your designer shoes altogether."_ She had rolled her eyes at this—something she does quite often when it comes to Damon). He's only wearing his pants, because they're at home and it's eight in the morning and they were in the middle of their morning quickie, when he accidentally knocked down the bottle of alcohol when he lifted Caroline up on the coffee table.

She can't help but stare as his muscles flexes with every move he's making. Damon's not necessarily bulky, but he is quite well-built. His arms are toned and she can see some veins popping up from beneath his smooth, white skin…but Caroline thinks it only makes him look even sexier. And don't get her started on those abs on his slender torso…

Caroline loves Damon, and she realizes that she really, _really _loves it when he's shirtless, too.

* * *

Damon is busy rummaging through his closet (_oh, yes_, the man has his own walk-in closet. His girlfriend had teased him on this, stating that he probably own as much clothes as she does—and she is _Caroline Forbes_), sighing as he yet finds another pair of dark jeans. He tosses it away, letting it land on top of a pile of clothes that are also scattered on the floor—all of them are also pants. So many pants but Damon can't find any of his shirts. He wakes up this morning and all of his shirts are gone, save for the printed t-shirt Caroline got him from a souvenir shop while they were on a vacation in London. And he is so _not_ going to wear _that_. He goes through another stack of clothes in vain, once again sighing in frustration when he still doesn't find what he's looking for.

"Caroline!"

"What?" Caroline asks annoyed, poking her head around the door. She has a nail buffer in her hand, so he assumes she was in the middle of a manicure when he had called her.

He tosses another pair of pants away, and Caroline manages to catch it before it lands on the floor in front of her. "What was that all about?"

"Sorry," he looks over to her apologetically, flashing her one of his sweetest smiles. "Have you seen any of my shirts?"

Caroline gives him a look for a moment, before she shakes her head. "Maybe you forgot to pick them up from the launderer?"

He stares at her, arching an eyebrow. "I thought _you_ were supposed to pick up the laundry this week?"

Caroline only shrugs.

"Besides," he continues, still adamant on trying to find a single piece of shirt in the midst of his wardrobe collection, "I never wash _all _of my shirts at once."

"Maybe you forgot where you put them?" she offers, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Yes, because I would just forget to put my clothes in my closet," he sarcastically replies. "So," he says, finally turning around to properly face her, his hands crossed against his chest, "do you have anything to do with this, _Miss Forbes_?"

"Me?" Caroline asks incredulously. "And why would I hide your shirts?"

She turns on her heels to leave the room, and lets herself to smirk smugly when she's sure Damon can't see. There's a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, and she's fist-bumping herself in her head.

"You know exactly why!" she hears Damon saying, but she's already too busy loading up a huge laundry bag into the trunk of her car.

* * *

It's not like Caroline's really opposed to nudity, really. She has no qualms on running around her own house (or in this case, her boyfriend's place) either naked or wearing only her bra. But she has to go to the lawyer's office today to sort out the matter of her mother's will, and for that occasion she will certainly need her clothes.

_And she can't find them anywhere. _

Damon had cleared a part of his closet to give her some room to place her things, and she has since stored her clothes, undergarments, and shoes there. But right now, there's nothing on the racks where she usually keeps her clothes. _Nothing_.

"Damon!"

The man takes his sweet time to paddle down the hallway, a smile plastered upon his face as he turns around the corner and walks into the room, making his way into the closet.

"Yes, dear?"

Caroline snorts and rolls her eyes, giving him a look that basically says _'seriously?'_

"Where are my clothes?" she asks, cocking her head towards the empty racks to emphasize the question

"And how would I know?" Damon frowns, looking as though Caroline has accused him of something he didn't commit

Caroline purses her lips. "Fine," she says. "_Fine_."

She sends Damon an innocent, unsuspecting smile.

"Well then," she shrugs lightly, pulling herself up from the floor, "I guess I'll just have to go see Mr. Carlton wearing only this, then," she says gesturing to her body which is only clad in a set of matching maroon bra and panties.

She heads outside, making sure her hips sway in such a way to mock Damon. But before she can even reach the door, Damon has flashed in front of her, blocking her way. His warm, big hands are on her waist, pulling her closer to him. He leans in, his breath hot against her ears,

"I don't think so," he whispers, capturing her lips with his in a bruising kiss.


End file.
